


December Light

by Dawnwind



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Advent, Gen, Religious Discussion, chanukkah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:01:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21728710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: Some latkes, a lot of candles, and a comparison of winter celebrations, Starsky and Hutch style.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 23





	December Light

December Light

While Starsky was in the kitchen, wrestling with the latkes his mother had sent by special delivery, Hutch pulled out the wreath he’d brought. Moving aside the menorah with its eight candles and—what was it Starsky called the ninth? Hutch placed the ring of greenery on the table and set four candles into the holders on the wreath. He lit two while trying to conjure up the word for the Jewish candle. 

“Starsk,” he called, “What’s…”

“What’s that?” Starsky asked, walking in with the fried potato pancakes on a plate. “Not enough candles for a menorah.”

“And you’re worried about not passing the detective’s exam next month,” Hutch teased, admiring his handiwork. The flames flickered in the dim room, sending brightness across the mismatched Pyrex plates and red place mats. “This is an Advent wreath.”

“Let me light candle number six with the Shamash,” Starsky said, striking a match. “And you educate me on yours while the latkes are hot.” 

“That’s the word!” Hutch grinned, pleased he hadn’t had to actually ask to get the answer. He folded his hands, respectful and cautious. He and Starsky had been partners for a year, best friends since the Academy. With all luck, they would take the detectives exam in January and remain partners for as long as they were on the Bay City Police Department. 

With that in mind, they’d been broaching those so-called taboo subjects, like politics and religion, while cruising in the patrol car. Hutch had known less than a handful Jewish people, and three of those had been in college, far from the isolated conclave of his family and friends growing up in Duluth. Starsky was the fourth.

Admittedly, Starsky had freely admitted that he was hardly a practicing Jew. Rarely attended synagogue. He loved his bacon, cheeseburgers, and pizza, but there was one High Holiday he did celebrate. He’d invited Hutch over for a scrumptious Chanukkah meal, and a game of dreidel. 

Driving home afterward, Hutch had hit upon the idea to introduce Starsky to his version of a religious winter holiday. His grandfather had been a Lutheran minister, and Advent had always been an exciting time when he was a kid. He’d loved lighting the candles each week until Christmas, and singing what he used to call Ocoma Manual’s song. He’d been nine or ten before his amused grandmother had corrected his pronunciation. It wasn’t a song about a relative of their Mexican gardener’s family—it was a series of Bible quotations from the book of Isaiah.

It was also, kind of, a connection between Chanukah and Advent, at least by Hutch’s way of thinking.

Starsky’s bright blue eyes reflected the flame from the Shamash as he carefully lit six candles, softly chanting, “ _Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu…_ ” He paused with a rueful expression and rolled his eyes. “Used to remember the whole thing in Hebrew. Uncle Mordecai would kill me for forgetting, but it means ‘Blessed are you, Adonai our God, Sovereign of all, who performed wondrous deeds for our ancestors in days of old at this season’.”

“Amen?” Hutch responded. The whole table was bathed in candlelight, keeping the lashing rain and intermittent thunder of a winter Southern California storm at bay. No wonder so many winter celebrations used candles. Just the eight flames generated enough heat to warm the dining area of Starsky’s tiny apartment.

“Amen,” Starsky concluded, pronouncing the word slightly differently than Hutch had. He forked up a morsel of crispy latke, dipped it in applesauce and sour cream, and ate it.

Hutch followed suit, relishing the fantastic flavors. “Huh,” he laughed, swallowing. “Latkes… Lefse are Norwegian potato cakes, more like a tortilla, but the names are similar.”

“Ask your mom to send us some.” Starsky nodded as they both made fast work of the feast Mrs. Starsky had supplied. 

“Mother never made them—she wasn’t a fan, oddly enough, but her mother cooked the finest in Duluth,” Hutch said steadfastly. 

“That’s right, stay on grandma’s good side, eh?” Starsky waved his fork at the evergreen wreath. “Advent…isn’t that what you call those calendars with chocolate every day for a month?”

“We were never allowed the chocolate kind,” Hutch recalled, that weird sense of jealousy he’d thought long forgotten rearing its head. Jack Mitchell’s parents used to supply one for each of the children, letting them eat the chocolate before breakfast and school. He and Karen used to have to share one calendar with dry Biblical verses under each tiny door. He always opened the odd days, she the even ones. 

“Advent is the season up until Christmas when we are waiting for Jesus’ birth. Each Sunday, one candle on the wreath is lit, and we sing a special song.” He swallowed, the last bite of latke suddenly stuck in his throat at the realization that he really did want to sing for Starsky. But the stage fright was rampant, no matter that he knew Starsky would be an appreciative audience.

“You bring your guitar?” Starsky glanced around with interest.

“No, because my mother used to sing it over the wreath acappella.” Hutch inhaled, closing his eyes, recalling his grandparents, Kasper and Sissel, the older man with his priest’s collar on, presiding over the dinner table. His mother and father, Louise and Richard, standing beside them. He and Karen would be on the opposite side. Once the candles were lit, Louise would sing in a lovely soprano. 

As he began the song, he could almost hear her singing along with him. “ _O come, o come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel that mourns in lonely exile here until the son of God appear._ ”

“It’s about the exile of Jews in Babylonia,” Starsky said in surprise. “That’s beautiful. You sing it in a Christian church?”

“Despite what some bigots say, we all come from the same root.” Hutch exhaled, pleased his friend had understood exactly why he wanted to share the song. “It’s like—“

“A bridge,” Starsky said in a rush. “A link.” He grabbed Hutch's hand, standing there in front of the Menorah and Advent wreath. 

“Candles to brighten the darkness and bond us together,” Hutch said softly, a flutter of something he couldn’t identify in his chest. This. _This was good_.

FIN


End file.
